


saihara shuuichi comes of age

by ClementineKitten



Category: New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: (not at all explicit) - Freeform, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Bisexuality, Coming of Age, F/M, Gen, Self realization, Self-Doubt, Self-Harm, Supportive Friends :), Trans Male Character, au where talent development plan is canon, what do you want from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-16
Updated: 2019-08-16
Packaged: 2020-09-01 01:30:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20249929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClementineKitten/pseuds/ClementineKitten
Summary: A boy meets the people who help make up his soul.





	saihara shuuichi comes of age

**Author's Note:**

> the self harm is tagged as a precaution, it's never really explicitly shown and it pretty much only mentioned. the anxiety/panic attacks are more prominent but aren't super detailed either, i don't think  
there's also a brief VERY NON EXPLICIT ~sexual scene~ near the end

In Kindergarten, he realizes something about himself. It's the first time he's been surrounded by so many children his age, and with that, leads to relationships.

There's a girl there, with soft brown hair in pigtails and wide, amber-coloured eyes. She reads thicker books than anyone else in the class, but she's always got a bright smile on, and she talks to everyone like it's the easiest thing in the world.

Saihara can't find it in himself to talk back to the same degree, but he does, softly and slowly, while she babbles on about a cool breed of lizard she just learned about.

He's always been a quiet kid, after all. 

But another one of his classmates has caught his eye. A boy, not a girl, with messy dark hair and mischievous brown eyes. He's the definition of rowdy, and he's always getting lightly scolded by their teacher. He stays up when they nap and he jumps on desks after he's done his work.

He's nothing like Saihara, but still, he finds himself fascinated all the same, attracted to him in that way toddlers are. Even if he's constantly causing trouble. 

When it's time for them to play, there's two areas of their classroom to do so in. One is filled with dolls, and a huge dollhouse, and various plastic cooking utensils on the counter. The other has a bin of Lego, a bunch of cardboard bricks, and various other "boyish" toys.

In hindsight, that kind of dichotomy was weird and unnecessary.

The kids don't seem to care for the distinction, and play in whichever they find the most interesting that day. 

Saihara tries to play in the kitchen, just like all the other girls have done before, but when he does, the rowdy boy grabs his arm and drags him back to see the brick creation he's made.

It makes Saihara feel warm and happy.

* * *

In grade two, they're assigned reading buddies. Students from older grades-- grade five, to be exact. They read short books with them and play games.

Saihara's buddy's name is Tazamaki Kyouya, a boy with floppy, light-coloured hair. He's laid back and very kind to Saihara, and always seems a little tickled whenever Saihara calls him senpai. Even though it's clear some of the other students in his class would really rather not be hanging out with a bunch of little kids, Tazamaki never says those kinds of things-- At the very least, not when Saihara's in earshot.

One day, though, Saihara notices that Tazamaki is a little out of it. He misses a page turn in his spaced-outedness. "Kyouya-senpai, is something wrong?"

"Hm? Oh." Tazamaki snaps to attention and ruffles Saihara's hair. "It's nothing, Kiyoko-chan."

"If something's wrong, we don't have to keep reading. We can colour." 

"Don't worry 'bout it, kiddo." He smiles at Saihara, then lowers his head. "If I tell you a secret, do you promise not to tell anyone?"

"Um, okay," Saihara mumbles. As discreetly as possible, Tazamaki points across the classroom, towards a boy with short dark hair and glasses, reading to Aiko, one of Saihara's classmates.

"That's Shin, my best friend. And, uh, kind of the guy I have a crush on." Tazamaki looks a little flushed. Saihara's never seen him with that sort of expression before. 

"Oh." Saihara notices that the boy has a smile just like Tazamaki's. "Why don't you tell him?"

“Huh? Well… Cuz it’s a secret, obviously! Jeez, kids these days are so forthright…”

“You’re not that old,” Saihara points out. Tazamaki laughs, but it sounds a little strained and nervous. He runs a hand through his bangs.

“Shin’s a guy, and I’m a guy… That… Doesn’t bother you?” he asks under his breath.

Saihara tips his head to the side. “Not really. I like boys, too.”

“Yeah, but it’s different for you.”

“And girls.”

Tazamaki’s eyes widen a little and he looks at Saihara with a kind of newfound respect in his gaze. “Oh, really?”

And he did. He was only a little kid, he didn’t have a name for those feelings yet. He didn’t know if they were good or bad or abnormal or harmful, he just _ knew _that he had them. And, yes, he knew that when he watched TV or read manga, there wasn’t a whole lot of couples that were made up of two boys or two girls. But even so, that didn’t cause his feelings to waver.

In his young age, he saw boys and girls holding hands in the schoolyard, or men and women walking around the town, doing the same thing. Sometimes they kissed, or hugged, too! 

“I mean… Yeah. That’s not weird, is it?”

“You’re a good kid, Kiyoko-chan.” Tazamaki smiles brightly at Saihara. He pats him on the shoulder, jostling him around a little. “Keep that same attitude all throughout your life, see? It’ll serve you well.”

“Okay… Let’s keep reading.”

* * *

Tazamaki graduates and moves onto middle school, but the conversation he and Saihara had sticks in his mind through his elementary career. At the time, he hadn’t understood the older boy’s hesitance at disclosing his attraction. 

Some years later, he realizes. The world is unkind to many types of people.

Words he hears in the halls. Things muttered under the breath of his classmates. 

They’re all only ten or so, but alas, they’ve been shaped so cruelly.

He’s only ten, too. But he’s still cognizant, and aware. His uncle tells him to keep his ears open and his eyes peeled, like a true detective, but sometimes that hyperawareness leads to him overhearing things he’d rather live without knowing. Mean things. Ignorant things. And even if they’re not aimed at him, they’re aimed at people like him, and it stings.

It's in grade five that he learns the term-- _ bisexual. _There are other people, just like him.

He likes boys as much as he likes girls. Maybe if he just hides the girl thing, he can live on the straight and narrow, and not alert anyone. 

But there’s another issue with that. The boy thing is a problem, too.

Because Saihara doesn’t want to be a girl. He _ isn't _a girl.

It’s a feeling that’s floated around in his heart for a while now, an idea in his head that he knows to be true. Feeling more comfortable in longer shorts and looser clothes, keeping his hair a lot shorter than his other female classmates, doing other aesthetic things to make himself look more masculine.

He had reached out into the mist and grabbed the idea, hoping to grasp something solid.

Because now that his body’s physicality had started to morph and change in ways that made him uncomfortable, he brought his hand down and felt the truth whisper through his fingers.

He’s trans. He’s a boy.

Something about that realization is relieving, and something about it is scary. So many things were now up in the air, so many things made uncertain by that one truth about him. As a kid, he was a girl. Even if he didn’t feel like that was something that fit him, even if he wasn’t attached to that identity, it was how people saw him. And so, it was the way he saw himself.

Not anymore.

He’s confused, he’s upset, and his chest aches and swells. He hates it, this feeling of discomfort, even if it’s oddly freeing at the same time.

And when he comes to this realization about himself, suddenly, daily life gets a great deal harder than it should be. The name "Kiyoko" and the word "she" used in reference to him make his stomach curl in apprehension, but he smiles awkwardly and doesn't let anyone in on the pain that makes his chest tighten. 

Whose decision was it anyways, to pick and choose what he wanted to be called, other than his own? People just look at him and, without even asking, refer to him in such a manner.

This feeling inside him had been building for so long, and now, it was finally expelled, and he didn't know what to do with it. Who did he tell, if anyone? If he could snap and suddenly, poof, everyone knew that he was a boy, that would be the ideal option.

But life isn't that easy. And he sees so much hatred in the media, caricatures of people like him, treated as jokes. Boys in dresses are perverts trying to trick and trap other people. Girls who cut their hair and try to be like boys have some ulterior motive.

It sucks. 

* * *

He doesn't tell his parents.

Easy, because they’re not home and he doesn’t know if they ever will be.

He does, however, tell his uncle, because keeping everything inside -- like he had for the past year -- is really taking a toll on his mental health.

He's only eleven, now.

And he knows his uncle might not understand-- he's a meticulous man, a very scientific, very methodical person. He tries to know the ins and outs of everything before he accepts it-- Saihara assumes it's a symptom of being a detective for so long.

One night, he seems uncharacteristically not busy-- he's reading a newspaper in his favourite armchair. Saihara sits down on the couch next to him and blurts it out:

"I think I'm a boy." 

His eyes water, and he squeezes them shut tightly. He awaits the criticism: "You're just confused," "you're too young to know that," "what's wrong with you?," all things he had read online that other people in his situation said happened to them. 

(And he had, naturally, deleted the search history right after.)

But his uncle doesn't say anything for a very long stretch of time, and Saihara feels his panic mounting. It’s a horrible, trapping feeling, like something alien and strange is trying to claw out of his stomach. He almost can't breathe. It's asphyxiating.

Finally, his uncle opens his mouth. And he doesn't speak roughly, he doesn't speak angrily, but he speaks with slow, precise words.

He tells Saihara that they're going to have to move the summer before he starts middle school, so they can be closer to his agency. Then he adds that he'll be at a new school across the city where he can introduce himself however he likes. 

The dam bursts, and Saihara cries, hard. His uncle was never one for physical affection, but he pats his shoulder awkwardly.

He doesn't get it, he says to Saihara, but he loves him. 

"I'm a detective. I find out things about people, and I find the truth they've created for themselves. Not the one I make up." 

His uncle is on his side, at least. And Saihara is so grateful. His parents are on the opposite side of the world, and he honestly doesn't imagine they'll take it as well as his uncle. Maybe they won't even care.

The next week, his uncle takes him to get a haircut. 

It's only a small change in his appearance, but it sends a rush through him.

Later, when Saihara is asleep, his uncle tells his wife in hushed words.

The Saiharas move that summer, and the night before Saihara's first day of middle school, he sits on his bed, consumed by anxieties. What if someone finds out? What if he's made fun of? What happens then? His body's not that curvy, but his face is thin and feminine looking.

He's afraid. 

He has his first panic attack that night, and he sobs into the pillow he's gripping with white knuckles.

But all the same, he walks into school that day, his heart thumping unevenly and his guts threatening to explode.

Nice to meet you, my name is Saihara <strike>Kiyoko</strike> Shuuichi.

* * *

He gets his period when he's eleven.

It's mortifying, and he feels like garbage.

* * *

Some people don't get it. A lot of people don't. 

People in his new school don't know his old name, but they look at him and see a "she." He gets called it, by mistake, on purpose, it blends together, but it still stings. 

What's with the assumptions? Why is that their thing to call before asking for his opinion? Why is it so hard to just _ understand? _

It's tiring, and any time he wants to stand up for himself, he feels this pressing anxiety, weighing down on his chest. What happens if it only gets worse? What if the bullying becomes more deliberate, pointed, angrier? What if it escalates? 

So usually, he quietly tells them they got it wrong and refrains from engaging further. 

He resigns himself to the shadows.

* * *

At age 12, his aunt wants to take him to the beach.

He tries to put in a tampon and fails spectacularly. In fact, he gets dizzy and uncomfortable and vows to never touch one again.

* * *

Saihara's uncle had often looked for his insight on cases. Ever since he was a young child, he had had him search through files and keep track of papers. When he’s a little older, he actually has him weigh in on the case with his opinions and look over key pieces of evidence. By the time he’s in grade eight, he’s read testimonies, accompanied his uncle on investigations, and actually helped out quite a bit with the progression of cases.

He doesn’t have the same passion for it that his uncle does, he simply helps out because of gratitude-- his uncle and his aunt took him in after his parents moved, and accepted and raised him. Casework can be fun from time to time, too.

His uncle does his best to keep him away from the most gruesome murder cases, so he sticks to the small stuff. Infidelity cases. Missing pets. Once his classmates catch wind that he’s working under (a generous term) _ the _Detective Saihara Shinichi, they ask him for help, too. He finds missing items. Tracks down lost homework. Even finds a girl’s cat for her.

It’s nice to feel wanted, but there’s also this dirty, fraudulent feeling that comes along with it. He likes helping his uncle, but he’s not a real detective. He’s never going to be. People look at him and see his uncle.

One of the popular kids in his class jokes “Hope’s Peak better watch out for the next Super High School Level Detective,” and winks at him. Saihara laughs, but feels his stomach drop at the same time.

That’s impossible. All he does is little things for people-- they thank him, he leaves, they both go about their days. It's not anything that's special to him.

* * *

A girl kisses him, once. On the cheek, after he’s helped her locate her pet bird.

It’s kind of like that girl who gave him chocolates on Valentine’s Day for finding her alligator, but this clearly isn’t friendly.

She’s shy, and quiet, and she's not in his class. She has black hair pulled into twin tails, and eyes like ink. After she’s drawn back, she sputters out a “thank you,” and quickly disappears. He blinks, still registering what happened to him as his cheeks redden.

It wasn’t on the lips, but it’s officially the first time he’s been kissed.

* * *

“Mornin’ Saihara-san, Shuuichi-kun.” One of his uncle’s friends greets them with a strained smile.

“Hello, Detective Ichijou. Any new leads on the Ayasato case?” his uncle replies, referring to the most recent case that’s been stumping the detectives.

“‘Fraid not,” Ichijou mutters, casting a glance at the wall. Saihara’s chest tingles with nerves.

“Actually, there was something I wanted to look into.” The eyes in the room turn to him as he speaks, and his voice comes out much softer than he wanted it to. “Well, there’s a high probability that it’s nothing, but…”

“Out with it, kid,” Ichijou says, and Saihara feels a rush of shame. He’s only a kid in his uncle’s agency, and he’s stepping up to challenge a senior detective. He tries to swallow his anxiety

“The victim’s personal diary… Remember how the entries were short, without much in them, like they were unnecessary?” he starts. His uncle nods.

“Well, I was reading through it last night, and I realized-- maybe we’re not supposed to be looking at the entries themselves. So I looked at the dates of each of the entry, and…” Saihara takes out his notebook. “They came out as location coordinates, and when I looked them up, they were for an old factory that had been shut down years ago.” He shows the others in the room the paper, on which he’s written the coordinates and matching address. “Perhaps this was coded because the victim didn’t want it getting out. Or… maybe it was a rendez-vous point of some type.”

There’s a quiet lull after Saihara speaks. “Ah, o-of course, that could just be a coincidence, and it may have nothing to do with the case--”

“I think it’s worth checking out,” his uncle interrupts. “We have no other leads, and that location is close to here-- perhaps it’s a coincidence, but it seems more like a pattern to me.

“Alright.” Ichijou nods. Saihara’s uncle looks at him with a smile, but it doesn’t quell the discomfort rising inside of him.

-

There’s trace amounts of blood all over the warehouse, and plenty more DNA evidence. Through this breakthrough, they're able to locate a very probable culprit. When Saihara's uncle gives him a grin and tells him that he's done a great job, he just feels this burning emptiness, almost like dread. 

Everyone's giving him expectant looks, now. But they haven't solved the case yet. Saihara may just be leading them down a rabbit hole.

They head to the suspect's house, with Saihara on the mission. And when he tries to escape through the window in the back, it's pretty clear that the guy's guilty.

One of the older detectives -- Miyahara -- tackles him to the ground and holds him steady. The suspect spits out vile words like poison, and Miyahara makes quick work of handcuffing him and pulling him to his feet. Saihara’s uncle smiles. “You did it, Shuuichi. That was some excellent deduction.”

“Huh? You’re the pig who led ‘em here?!” the handcuffed man spits. Saihara takes a step back unconsciously. “You son of a bitch!”

His eyes… The man’s eyes…

The only thing in them is boiling, bubbling hatred, that spills from his eyes and fills his surroundings. They’re bloodshot, pointed straight at Saihara, like he was the only thing in the world he had the capacity to hate. His lips, drawn into a snarl, growl out more violent insults, but Saihara doesn’t hear them, too focused on his _ eyes _.

There’s evil in them, a promise-- that if he wasn’t restrained, Saihara would be his next victim.

They burn holes into his very soul.

“You fucker!” he hisses. “Some people deserve to die, don’t you think?!”

Saihara keeps his mouth shut. He can't see anything except the burning, loathing look in his eyes. His heart thumps unnaturally, his chest pulls, and he knows this feeling, he knows it well. _ Not now. Not in front of everyone. _

As his uncle leads him away, he feels dizzy, like he's walking on a thin sheet of ice that's about to give way and plunge him into the darkness. 

* * *

He's congratulated when the arrest goes as planned. Older detectives who never even gave him the time of day before now smile and wink. Miyahara pats him on the back, Ichijou ruffles his hair.

Whenever he closes his eyes, he sees the culprit staring back at him.

"You did a fantastic job, Shuuichi." His uncle holds up his mug of coffee in a cheers position. 

"Ah, yeah…" Saihara mumbles. "I didn't do as much as everyone's saying I did."

"You kidding? You cracked the case, kid!"

"I just looked at something no one else thought to. It wasn't like it was this crazy Da Vinci code."

His uncle looks at him thoughtfully. "Give yourself a little more credit. Maybe anyone else could have figured it out, but it was you who did."

His words offer no comfort to a mind that's already made up, curled in on itself. 

* * *

"You hear about the culprit of that Ayasato murder?"

Saihara pauses when he hears the trio of detectives sitting around the coffee table start talking. He had only come in here to fetch his uncle's coffee, but his curiosity gets the better of him, and his hand stills on the mug.

"Yeah, that Yabusame guy. What about him?"

"Get this-- I heard that it was a revenge kill."

"Really? How?"

"Ayasato was datin' Yabusame's sister, and apparently, he was a grade-A dick. Super abusive and awful to her."

"Really now?"

"Yeah, and guess what? Poor girl committed suicide, she just couldn't handle it anymore."

"That's just awful. Lot of rotten people in this world, huh?"

"Definitely."

"So, in his confession, Yabusame said that's the reason. To make Ayasato suffer the same fate as his sister. Said some people deserve to die. Even said death was probably too nice for him."

"Crazy."

"Isn't it?"

"I would never stoop to murder, but you kind of get how the guy feels, right?"

"If someone did that to my sister, I'm not sure how I'd be able to deal."

"To Hell with it. I probably would've done the same thing. That's unforgivable."

Saihara grabs the cup and absconds. He doesn't want the detectives to see him. He doesn't want anyone to see him. He brings the cup to his uncle, says he needs to use the bathroom, and rushes to the agency's washroom. He stares at himself in the mirror, the words of the detectives bouncing around in his head. The culprit's eyes. The words. What the culprit had said to him. The words. The eyes again. The words.

He slumps a little against one of the walls. He feels numb and staticky and his head spins. _ Was what the culprit did right? Was I wrong? Goddammit, I barely even solved the case and led the police straight to a man who cared so much about his sister. _

In the back of his mind, he knows-- murder is wrong, no matter what. But his moral compass is thrown out of whack, like someone is dragging a magnet around his body. 

_ What if someone had driven my uncle to suicide? Or my aunt? What would I do? _

Confusion and nausea wells up inside him. Pity does, too, and it spills over in the form of tears that begin in his eyes.

He understood the culprit. He understands desperation, and fear, and anger. Everybody does. He _ hates _it when he's able to humanize criminals, his uncle's job would be so much easier if every perp was just an inhumane monster, but they weren't. Some of them were, but a lot of them were people, with worries and sorrows and goals just like him. 

They just took it to the extreme. 

Was he a victim of circumstance? Or were these tendencies, this crime, something that would have followed him, regardless of whether Ayasato was in his life or not? 

He feels like he's drowning. His lungs are filled with liquid, and it _ burns, _dammit. 

He shouldn't be getting so emotional. The culprit was a killer, he needs to be able to distance his feelings from his logic, but even so…

He punches the wall.

Saihara's never been a violent person, but he feels like the only way to bring himself back to reality is through pain. He gulps in a breath and stares at his pitiful reflection.

He hates it. He hates this part of him that can't shut up and stop thinking, can't be what everyone expects, can't be Saihara Shinichi's perfect little detective nephew with the exact same aptitude, and can't separate feelings from fact in a goddamned homicide. 

_ I'm pathetic. I can't even handle a single murder case. _

* * *

The case is major news. Saihara's name pops up more times than he would've liked, calling him a "junior ace" and a "detective prince."

The scouts from Hope's Peak are watching.

* * *

There's a hat in his closet that his uncle bought him when he was younger. He wore it a few times when he went out during sunny days, but otherwise, he was never much of a hat person.

Lately though, when he leaves the house, he watches people in the street. And he's always drawn to their eyes, because of that one _ stupid case. _Kind eyes, tired eyes, angry eyes. 

He thinks to himself: _ Do you have the power to kill? _

He makes a habit of staring at the sidewalk.

He pulls on the hat -- it's dark grey, like most of his other clothes -- and looks at himself in the mirror. It's a normal ballcap, but he pulls it down so it covers one of his eyes. The asymmetry of it looks a little odd, but it eases the tension in his chest when he looks at others.

* * *

One night, when he's laying in bed (something he's been doing a lot lately), his aunt comes in his room. 

"Shuuichi, dearest, are you busy?" she asks as she shuffles towards him. 

"No. What is it?"

"Well.." She looks kind of uncomfortable. It seems like she's about to sit at the foot of his bed, but she hesitates. "Shinichi and I were talking about how you've been spending a lot of time in your room lately. We're worried about you."

"Oh." Saihara exhales. Oh no, here comes the mental health talk. 

"We know you're going into high school soon and how teenagers get, but…" His aunt looks everywhere in his room except him. "Shinichi's insurance covers therapy for him and his family." 

Saihara scrambles for something to say before his aunt holds up her hands. "It's something to keep in mind." In a swift movement, she walks towards him and plants a kiss on his forehead, brushing his bangs out of the way. "Shinichi and I love you very much."

"I love you, too." Saihara swallows thickly.

* * *

Depression and anxiety tend to go hand in hand with each other. Falling deep into anxiety often gives way to depression, and depressive states lead to anxious feelings.

Saihara knows he worries and overthinks a lot. He knows "normal people" don't leave class to have panic attacks in the bathroom. He knows "normal people" don't mentally berate themselves for dumb things they say. He knows "normal people" don't have to punch walls to bring themselves back to reality. 

He knows "normal people" don't think about killing themselves when they lay awake at night. 

To Hell with normal, anyways. 

He doesn't want to bother his aunt and uncle. He doesn't want to bother a therapist. If he holds the feelings internally, he can keep being a "junior ace," and carry on like life's all fine and dandy, until he's alone. 

But his uncle is a smart and observational man. He's also rather determined, and at one point, he tells Saihara that he's taking him with him to therapy. "Just one session. I won't force you into anymore," he promises.

_ Depression _ and _ anxiety _are what the therapist and physician diagnose him with. 

Knowing the names brings him some semblance of relief, some feeling of _I'm not alone. _By the same token, the feelings are now real and solid and pinned down, they're serious, and he's talking to a professional.

It kind of messes with his life.

* * *

When he comes home from school on Friday, his aunt is sitting at the table. Friday is one of the days she has off, but usually, she'd be cleaning or reading a novel, not just sitting.

"I'm home," Saihara says to her. 

"Ah, Shuuichi! Good afternoon, darling. Come, come, sit!"

The enthusiasm is a little odd, so he leaves his bag at the door to pick up later and takes a chair next to his aunt. 

That's when he notices the envelope.

"It's for you." She's smiling, but Saihara feels an odd sense of dread. 

He picks it up. It's addressed to _ Mr. Saihara Shuuichi _and the return address is…

Hope's Peak Academy.

His heart climbs into his throat.

Slowly, he opens the envelope and what tumbles out is a single sheet of pristine white paper.

He reads.

_ Dear Mr. Saihara Shuuichi, _

_ You have been chosen by the Super High School Level Initiative to attend Hope's Peak Academy as the Super High School Level Detective. Our goal is to raise and nurture the students who will one day grow into symbols of hope for the nation, and you are selected for a position in the 79th class. _

_ To confirm your placement, please respond via mail using the address on the envelope, or by email using the address _ [ _ hopespeakinitiative@hotmail.com _ ](mailto:hopespeakinitiative@hotmail.com) _ . _

_ We look forward to seeing your face at the entrance ceremony come April. _

_ Best regards, _

_ Hope's Peak Academy Headmaster _

_ Kirigiri Jin _

Saihara lets the paper fall from his hands. "Why?" 

At seeing her nephew's expression, Saihara's aunt's face shifts from excitement to concern. "Probably for that case you solved, darling! Hope's Peak wants you!"

"I… I didn't--" He cuts himself off. No one needs to hear him parroting his insecurities over and over. His aunt puts her hand over his. 

"I… know you don't think the world of your abilities, Shuuichi, dear, but look!" With her free hand, she taps the letter. "Hope's Peak has recognized you for the talented boy you are! _ Hope's Peak! _"

Saihara bites the inside of his cheek. "I really think you should go, darling. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity that not a lot of people get to experience!"

Well, he can't just say no, can he? Say "_Sorry, Kirigiri-san, I'm not going _"? Before that dumb case, he was just Saihara Shuuichi, shadowing his uncle, helping out with cases. Now he's in the mainstream, and apparently, that means Hope's Peak knows who he is.

"Yeah, I know."

His aunt looks at him from above her glasses. "It'll be good for you, Shuuichi. I think so, at least. And I'll tell your uncle once he gets home."

Good for him, huh? It wasn't like he was terribly unpopular at school-- he had some friends, and he had a reputation as a detective. But even so, the idea of being surrounded by the cream of the crop makes him both anxious and excited, but mostly the former. 

He glances at the letter again, skimming the words. "Can I go up to my room now?" he asks.

"Oh, um-- sure, darling."

* * *

"I think he should definitely go."

His aunt and uncle are speaking in the kitchen below his room.

"I agree it's a good opportunity, but you know how he gets, Mayoi." 

"Maybe this can be his big chance. To get out there, find some good friends, live a little."

"He can't control his feelings, though."

"He can't let himself be a slave to them, either. He has his medication."

"Yes, but…" 

Saihara puts in his ear buds.

* * *

It’s 7:30 when Saihara arrives at Hope’s Peak, dwarfed in size by the sheer height of the building. He stands in front of the gates, anxiety thrumming in his stomach, gripping his bag with pale knuckles. The opening ceremonies don’t start until 8, but he hadn’t slept well and had been pacing around for the better part of an hour, so he decided to come early. His uncle had dropped him off with a smile and a good luck wish, and then he was on his own.

Well, he’s really here. As the Super High School Level Detective, if only in name. 

His acceptance letter is folded into a square in the pocket of his middle school uniform (he didn’t really know what else to wear), and after some (a lot) of hesitation, he walks through the gates, and officially steps onto Hope’s Peak’s campus. 

_ Alright, I need to get to the gym. _He had been sent a map over email, and he walks with his eyes glued to it, through the building and to the large, imposing doors.

To his surprise, a number of people had already gathered. Some look towards him as the gym doors creak open loudly, and he feels like a specimen under a microscope. He sighs, shakes himself out, and wanders awkwardly to the side of the room. _ Don’t freak out. It’s going to be fine. _

There’s another person leaning against the wall, a girl with fair skin and long brown pigtails. She doesn’t really look at Saihara, but her eyes fall to him for a very brief moment.

“Uh, hi,” Saihara mumbles.

“...Hey.” She crosses her arms and glances in the other direction. He supposes their conversation is over before it’s begun.

He busies himself on his phone as the minutes slowly tick away. At one point, a boy with spiky purple hair bursts in, completely out of breath, then looks incredibly confused when everyone is simply milling about. He shouts where the Hell is the headmaster, it’s 8:50, and then promptly realizes his clock at home was set incorrectly. Then he laughs loudly, as if the whole ordeal was just a tiny inconvenience, and strides towards the stage with a bright smile on his face.

Saihara’s sure that if he was the one in that situation, he’d straight up die.

At 7:58, the headmaster -- or whom Saihara assumes is the headmaster -- walks on stage. He has dark purple hair, and accompanying him is a blonde man with a fedora-type hat, a stern-looking man with wavy greenish hair, and a… rabbit? 

A robot. A robot rabbit. A robbit. About half a metre tall. 

The students congregate into a lump. There’s not as many as Saihara thought there would be, maybe around 50, all in what he assumes are middle school uniforms. Most of them are black or grey, including his own.

The purple-haired man taps on the microphone. “Hello, incoming students, and welcome to Hope’s Peak. I’m your headmaster, Kirigiri Jin.”

Saihara’s stomach roils.

“I’m sure you’re all excited to be here. We, too, are excited to raise the newest symbols of hope so they can achieve their full potential. First, some ground rules.”

Headmaster Kirigiri straightens his tie. “As students of Hope’s Peak Academy, you are expected to carry yourself with at least _ some _sense of dignity. The school building is locked at 11 P.M each night, and the cafeteria is closed at 10 P.M. We have tight security-- and it’s expected that you follow curfew and be in your dorms by 10.” He gestures to the tall man with the green hair. “Sakakura-san is the head of security, and you don’t want to make him angry, I promise.” 

Sakakura’s frown deepens.

“Speaking of dorms, you’ve all been assigned a room in our dormitories on the first floor-- you’ll be escorted there after. Your door has a name plate on it, and inside, you’ll find your student electronic handbook -- which I highly recommend you keep on your person at all times -- your uniform, and your keys.”

A hand goes up. Headmaster Kirigiri points to it. “What is it?”

“Are you gonna explain the rabbit?” asks a boy.

“Ah, well, this is actually your teacher.” Murmurs quickly rush through the crowd, and the headmaster holds up his hands. “I know it sounds strange, but trust me-- she was created by a Hope’s Peak alumnus, and she’s designed to support and nurture all you students.

“I’m Magical Miracle Girl Usami!” the rabbit says in a high voice. “But you can all just call me Ms. Usami!”

Saihara tilts his head to the side. This was… well, unexpected. Maybe he really did have no idea what Hope’s Peak was actually like, and all of his worries were uncalled for. The thought doesn’t quell his nerves, but it sticks in the back of his mind.

The person beside him titters, and he turns. A girl with blonde hair meets his eyes. “Weird school, huh? I didn’t think _ the _Hope’s Peak would be like this.”

“Ah, yeah, me neither.” He smiles. The girl grins at him, and focuses back on Headmaster Kirigiri.

* * *

Saihara is sorted into a class with the nice girl from the assembly and the guy who had gotten the time wrong. Usami has them introduce themselves first and foremost-- your name, your talent, and your favourite colour. Basic ice breakers, all clad in their brown Hope’s Peak uniforms.

He learns the girl is the SHSL Pianist, the boy is the SHSL Astronaut, and some of his other classmates’ talents. A robot…? And a _ supreme leader? _

Usami points at him, and he takes a breath in.

“Well, I’m Saihara Shuuichi… I’m kind of the Super High School Level Detective, but I’m still in training… I work under my uncle. And my favourite colour is grey.”

“Bo-ring,” the supreme leader whisper-shouts. Usami glares at him.

“Ouma-kun! Don’t be rude to your classmates!” she says. Ouma sticks his tongue out.

“Sorry, teach.”

He looks down at his desk. Most of homeroom involves Usami telling them about regulations and them doing games to get to know each other. He didn’t know what to expect of his fellow SHSLs-- there’s a girl who introduces herself as a mage, another who can’t go two words without swearing or making a sexual innuendo (poor Usami looks like she’s about to faint), and, er, a convicted criminal…?

This was going to be a strange year, for certain.

After class, the blonde girl -- Akamatsu Kaede, she had said her name was -- turns around in her seat and looks at him. “You’re a detective, Saihara-kun?”

_ Not really. _“I work under my uncle. I helped solve a case a while back, and it was pretty big in the media-- I guess that’s why I was scouted.” Akamatsu looks straight at him, and he struggles to return her gaze.

“Yeah, I don’t really read the news that much.” She smiles easily, and scratches her head. “A lot of it is kind of depressing.”

“It is.” He scrambles for words. “Uh, and you’re a pianist?”

“Yeah!” Her mauve eyes light up. “Ever since I was a baby, pretty much. I love the piano, music brings together people who can’t communicate with words, don’t you think?”

“Yeah… Sorry, I don’t listen to a lot of classical music.” His uncle had liked it, though. “If you were scouted, though, you’re definitely talented. It’s nice to have a passion like that.”

“Huh? Aren’t you passionate about detective work?” 

“Well, I kind of just do it to help out my uncle.”

Akamatsu pumps her fist in the air. “I’m sure you’re great at it, though! You wouldn’t be at Hope’s Peak if you weren’t.”

“I suppose so…” She was so… positive. And forthright. Even without knowing anything about Saihara, she charged forward under the pretense of his position at the school, assuming he was a great detective. Her belief, even if misplaced, kind of warms his chest a little, and the anxious knots in his stomach begin to unfurl.

“I’ll play you a song, some time, if you show me your detective work. Tit for tat.” She winks.

“I can’t really whip out my talent like that, though…”

“We’ll make it work!”

* * *

They’re assigned a simple partner project towards the end of their first week of school. “A collage that represents the both of you!” Usami had said. It was more befitting of elementary school kids, but Saihara didn’t hate the idea.

If given the choice, he probably would’ve asked Akamatsu. They talked in class every day, and Saihara was beginning to think of her as a friend, never mind how his heart flipped when she smiled brightly at him. Crushes had _ always _come to him very, very quickly.

But Usami puts them in groups of two, and he’s paired with Harukawa Maki-- the girl he had first seen in the auditorium. He’s barely heard her speak the entire week, and she eats alone during lunch. The idea of working with someone so… closed off worries him a little.

Akamatsu’s with Momota, and they’re both speaking emphatically to each other. Meanwhile, Saihara sits awkwardly across from Harukawa, who fiddles with the string around her neck. “So,” he starts slowly, “what do you think about--”

“I’m going to stop you there, Saihara,” Harukawa interrupts. “I think this project is pretty dumb, and I don’t want to waste more time than I have to on it.”

“Okay…?”

“So, come to my dorm tomorrow with your ideas. I’ve got glue and art supplies.”

And then they sat in an uncomfortable silence.

* * *

He does what she says, though. He thinks about himself, since he knows next to nothing about Harukawa, and with some old magazines Usami brought to class, heads to Harukawa’s room.

It’s bare in there-- she has no decorations on the wall, except for a calendar hanging off her door. But she’s laid out the art supplies and a poster board, so he supposes it’s time to get to work.

“I have ideas for my part, but Harukawa-san, it has to represent you, too.”

She slides off her bed to sit in front of the crafting area. “Doesn’t matter. There’s not a lot to say about me, anyways.” She gives him a pointed glare, as if sensing his misgivings. “Don’t worry, I’m not a jerk. I’m not going to purposefully get a bad mark.”

“I wasn’t--”

“Yeah, you were.”

Saihara has the distinct feeling he’s going to spend the afternoon pulling teeth. He settles beside Harukawa. “So, what I was thinking is that we use photos and a lot of written words to explain ourselves.”

“Alright.”

They get to work, and without banter to distract them, they go quickly. Saihara notices Harukawa’s deliberate movements and her magazine photos, which are precisely cut out, and her neat handwriting. “You’re really good at this, Harukawa-san.”

“I’ve got experience.”

“Do you scrapbook, or something?”

“No.”

Harukawa sighs and leans back on her thighs. “I guess you’ll figure it out because it’s going to be on the paper, so I’ll just tell you. I grew up in an orphanage.”

“Oh.” Saihara feels a pang of sympathy. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I took care of the kids, which means I did a lot of crafts with them. They’re distractions.” Harukawa mooves smoothly, glueing down a photograph.

“That explains your talent, I guess.”

“Yeah. I don’t really like kids, but I was one of the older ones in there, so it was kind of expected of me.” Harukawa shrugs simply.

“I didn’t know.” _ Obviously, Saihara. _This was the most Harukawa had ever spoken to him, and she was disclosing something so personal to him, he doesn’t know whether to be shocked or feel kind of special that he’s the one she’s told about it. “I don’t really like my talent too much, either.”

“I can tell.”

“Huh?”

“Whenever you talk about it, you’re all ‘I guess’ and ‘maybe.’ Doesn’t take a rocket scientist.”

Saihara looks down at their project. “I see.”

Well, him not liking his talent was clear as day, apparently. It didn’t seem like this girl really cared about the things her classmates said, but even she picked up on it. He doesn’t like people looking at him as the SHSL Detective, and he doesn’t like the pressures that come along with it. He’s a Hope’s Peak student. He’s a detective. That’s what they see. That’s what they expect-- someone confident who knows how to do his job.

Not a person who’s only ever helped solve a single murder.

“Well, that’s why we’re here, I guess. Caregiver and detective.” There’s a certain bitterness in her voice. “Might as well make the best of it.”

* * *

“Yo, Saihara.”

Momota, one of his classmates, catches up with him as he heads to the dorms. “Good afternoon, Momota-kun.”

“So, you’re friends with Harukawa, right?” he jumps right into a conversation with ease.

“Uh? Not really.”

He blinks, looking genuinely surprised. “But you two did that collage project last week.”

“Yeah, we worked on it together, but I wouldn’t say we’re friends or anything.” Though, if Saihara had to admit it, there was something nice about her companionship. Even if she kicked him out pretty quickly after they were finished. “Why?”

“Oh. No reason.” He puts his hands behind his head. “She just… hasn’t been talking a lot in class. I thought maybe something was wrong.”

“Some people are just quieter than others.”

“Sure, whatever, but I get this feeling that there’s something deeper there. That she wants to talk, but she feel like she can’t.” Momota strokes his goatee as they walk. Saihara looks up at the sky-- the cherry blossoms are in full bloom, and petals flit through the wind gracefully.

“I feel like you’re making a lot of assumptions,” Saihara tells him in a murmur. Maybe it’s not his place to dictate what Momota says and does, but he doesn’t want him harassing Harukawa. 

“What else can you do when you’re not given anything to work with? Speakin’ a which…” Momota looks at him. “You’re like her, too. Quiet and all. Like you’re worried ‘bout tripping over yourself.

“Now you’re making assumptions about me,” Saihara mumbles. _ Even though he’s completely correct. _

“Wanna go on a jog, then?” Momota asks.

“Huh?”

“Healthy body, healthy mind, you know the saying. If you’re focusing on moving your body and breathing, everything else is secondary, y’see?” Momota grins widely at him-- so bright, it reminds him as Akamatsu.

“I… suppose.” Saihara’s heard a lot about exercise being a good coping mechanism and great for mental and physical health, but it’s never been something he’s been entirely invested in. He’s average in gym class, and he’s done some weight-lifting from time to time.

Looking at Momota’s… physique… it’s pretty clear he’s done a lot of exercise, and Saihara assumes that physical training for astronauts is nothing short of strenuous.

“I don’t really do a lot of running, though,” he tells Momota.

“There’s a first time for everything!”

Momota isn’t very easy to sway, so it seems. He’s stubborn and steadfast and he’s speaking to Saihara like they’ve known each other for a long time, rather than like this is their first conversation. Saihara’s anxiety flares to life in his chest.

_ He probably just thinks of me as the confident SHSL Detective, too. Just someone quiet who he can fix. _

He recalls what his aunt told his uncle; _ Maybe this can be his big chance. To get out there, find some good friends, live a little. _

“I mean, I guess…”

* * *

Momota takes him on a run and by the end of it, his lungs burn and he’s caked with sweat. He grabs onto a chain link fence and breathes heavily and deeply, trying to calm his rapidly beating heart.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Momota laughs heartily, passing Saihara his water bottle. The water is cooling and quenching and the best thing Saihara has ever tasted. He looks at Momota reproachfully.

“You and I... _ clearly _have different ideas on what feels good…” he huffs. 

“Hey, now.” Momota himself is glistening with sweat, and instead of his regular spiky hair style, he wears it in a ponytail. He’s in a tank top that clearly used to be a shirt before the sleeves were cut off. It’s a good look on him. He looks… hot.

From the sweat, that it.

“Were you thinkin’ about saying or doin’ the wrong thing while you were out running?”

“Uh… I guess not.” Mostly, he was thinking about imminent death from over-exertion.

Momota beams. “See what I mean?”

* * *

Momota soon makes this a habit. He comes to Saihara’s dorm after class, tells him to get dressed, and the two go running. If he catches the fact that Saihara wears a sports bra under his exercise clothes, he doesn’t mention it. 

“Why do you keep doing this?” Saihara asks one day when he’s out of breath and keeled over. After catching wind of their outings, Akamatsu had lent him some of her hairclips, which keep his bangs pinned out of the way beneath his hat -- which he still doesn’t feel comfortable exercising without.

“What do you mean?” Momota responds simply.

“Taking me out running, I mean. You can easily do this yourself.”

He shrugs. “You look like someone who needs to run.”

“Excuse me?”

“I told ya the first time, didn’t I? Sheesh.” Momota runs a hand through his bangs. “Somethin’ about you just screams some type of… unsure. Besides, we’re classmates. Shouldn’t we be lookin’ out for each other’s health?” He gives Saihara an uncharacteristically serious look. 

“You don’t know anything about me.” Saihara frowns.

“Maybe you should open up, then.”

Saihara feels a flicker of frustration. “To you?”

“Maybe if you tell me what’s actually bothering you, we can work at letting that out, instead of whatever I’ve made up.”

Now, Saihara’s thoughts have come to an impasse. Momota was bold, yes, but would he really understand what Saihara was feeling if he told him? Maybe he was being presumptuous, but it felt like they came from entirely different worlds. He was easygoing and laidback, while Saihara was… uptight and anxious a great deal of the time.

If he actually said what was wrong with him, would he laugh or scoff and say it’s no big deal?

Slowly, he tells Momota about the murder case, unable to look him in the eye the entire time.

“Hm… That’s your enemy, then.”

“My enemy?”

“The thing that’s holding you back. You think you don’t deserve to be at Hope’s Peak, and you’re conflicted about catching the killer in the first place, yeah?” Momota puts his hand on his hip, and Saihara nods. “That’s bullshit, man.” 

Saihara’s stomach roils, and it's a horrible, apprehensive feeling. That case put him through Hell and back. “You have no right to say that!”

Momota’s eyes widen, and then he laughs. “_There’s _a good, fearless reaction!” He smiles. “What I mean is: no matter his motive, the culprit killed someone. All you did was seek the truth and lead the cops to the right guy. You shouldn’t have to feel bad about doing your job correctly.”

Momota was right, obviously, in a rational sense. But the problem with feelings is that they aren’t rational. Saihara didn’t choose to feel this crushing guilt and anxiety that haunts him like the spectre. He thought about the culprit, he thought about the life destroyed by the victim, he couldn’t _ help it. _

They came to him when he was alone, at his most vulnerable, or just if they wanted to make a fool out of him.

Why should he enjoy seeking the truth if it led to pain and suffering, time and time again?

“Yeah, I know, I _ know _you’re right, Momota-kun, but I just don’t feel that way.”

Momota pauses, briefly, thoughtfully. “Then let’s work until you can. I’ll believe in you, Shuuichi, even if you don’t.”

“Shuuichi, huh?” The use of his first name makes his heart skip a beat, though it could be from the exercise.

“Yeah, and you should call me Kaito. We’re bros in arms, now, working towards the same goal.”

“...Defeating my enemy?”

“You got it.”

* * *

Saihara eats lunch in the classroom one day, wanting to take the time to work on some notes. When he enters the room after returning from the cafeteria, he notices one of his classmates, sitting in the windowsill, framed by the early May sunlight. 

“Ouma-kun?” Saihara asks as he slides into his desk.

“Oi, Saihara-chan, what are you doing here?’

“I need to work on something for my uncle. Why aren’t you in the cafeteria?”

He takes something out of his mouth -- a heart-shaped lollipop -- and points it at Saihara. “Coming up with some secret plans for world domination. Very scary, secret stuff. Wouldn’t tell ya even if you paid me.” He smirks. He smiles differently than Akamatsu or Momota; his don’t touch his eyes.

It’s been about a month since the start of school, and he’s almost never spoken to Ouma one-on-one. “You sure like to lie a lot, huh?”

Ouma purses his lips. “What makes you think I’m lying?”

“To be honest, I have my doubts that your secret organization exists. I’ve never heard anything about it.”

“Du-doy, Saihara-chan, that’s cuz it’s a _ secret. _”

Saihara twirls his chopsticks. “It just feels like you’re compensating for something, that’s all.”

“I don’t have a thing to compensate for, dearest Saihara-chan.” Ouma talks through his lollipop.

“What _ is _with the lying, though? Organization notwithstanding, you do it a lot.”

Ouma leaps down from the windshield and lands with a graceful bow. He walks over to Saihara and hoists himself up on the desk next to him, leaning over his lap towards the other boy. “Riddle me this, Saihara-chan, why do you detect?”

_ Loaded question. _“I guess… to help out my uncle.”

“Bingo-bongo. Saihara Shuuchi-chan detects because Saihara Shuuichi-chan is a detective. Ouma Kokichi lies because Ouma Kokichi is a liar. Simple as that.” He grins again.

“Is that what makes you happy?” Saihara asks, genuinely.

“Does happiness have anything to do with it?” Ouma touches a hand to his chest. He’s not wearing his blazer-- he rarely ever does. “It’s simply who I am.”

“Yeah, but…” In his brief interactions with Ouma, Saihara had often found himself at a lost for words. This was one such time.

“Sheeeeesh, Saihara-chan, for a detective, you’re making an awful lot of assumptions about me and who I am. Who cares if I lie? It’s just another personality trait, like Momota-chan’s arrogance or Iruma-chan’s vulgarity. If you strip away the lies, who do you have left? Is that even cute, sweet little me, anymore?” Ouma kicks his feet.

“Ouma-kun… Is that really how you feel?” Saihara looks at him, concerned and a little shocked. Ouma acted like a troublemaker in class, was often dismissive with their classmates, but if he was dealing with that much strife…

“Detecting is your job. Don’t shove the dirty work onto me.” He hops off the desk and strides towards the door. “By the way; be careful what you wish for, Saihara-chan.”

As Ouma leaves, Saihara thinks he_ detects_ a distinct sadness in his eyes.

* * *

He spends an afternoon throwing rocks into a river a little ways off-campus with Akamatsu. It’s fun, it’s easy-- being around Akamatsu is calming. She’s bright, happy, and supportive, just like Momota is, but not as pushy as he is. So they take it slow, leaned against the rocks and ferns, taking turns skipping stones. Akamatsu holds the record for most skips -- 9.

“Thanks for coming to hang out with me, Saihara-kun,” she says as she rolls a smooth white stone between her fingertips, then throws it into the water.

“It’s my pleasure.”

It skips four times before it plunks into the black water. “I’ve just been tired, recently,” she admits. “Not very Super High School Level of me, I know.”

“You don’t control the way you’re feeling. It’s good to take breaks.”

It’s mid-May, and the Sun is high in the sky. The two of them have forgone their blazers, dress shirts rolled up to their elbows with Saihara’s pants curled up at the ankle. “You’re right, as always, Mr. Detective.” She wrinkles her nose. _ Cute. _

“You know… You can talk to me…” he begins tentatively. “I’m not the best at giving advice, but I know what it’s like to be… down on yourself.”

Akamatsu watches his stone skip along the water, then looks at him. “Thanks, Saihara-kun. It’s the same to you, too. You’re pretty great!” 

His stomach buzzes with butterflies, like a grade-schooler with a crush. “Thanks.”

She smiles and hops to her feet, brushing off her leggings. “Do you want to wade in the river? It’s kind of hot out.”

“We might get leeches, but sure.”

“Don’t worry about it!” 

The pair strip off their shoes and socks, and Akamatsu places a foot in the water. “Ooo! It’s cold!” she squeals.

“It’s only May, after all.” Saihara steps in after her, and she’s right-- the water _ is _cold as Hell.

A giggle bubbles from Akamatsu’s lips. “Argh! Still! I thought it’d be warmer!” She pulls her hair up in a ponytail and wades a little further in. 

“These mossy rocks are pretty slippery, too,” Saihara says, trying to keep his balance. Spending time with Akamatsu is certainly fun, and he’s not sure he wants to end it covered head to toe in freezing river water.

“Here.” Akamatsu extends her arm towards Saihara. “Take my hand. Then we both won’t fall.”

Heart thumping, Saihara does what she says.

* * *

In June, a surprising sight awaits Saihara when he goes to meet Momota by the gates for their run. 

Harukawa stands beside him, looking out of place. “Harukawa-san, what are you doing here?” Saihara asks as he approaches. She huffs and looks away.

“This idiot’s been bothering me for weeks about going on a run with you two. I figured if I did it once, he’d stop pestering me.”

“Hey! I’m not an idiot!” Momota retorts. Harukawa simply rolls her eyes at him. “It’ll be good for you.”

“I assure you I don’t need it.”

And, _ wow, _she wasn’t lying. Harukawa barely breaks a sweat during their entire run, and while Saihara thinks his cardio has definitely improved since the start of the year, he’s still red-faced and out of breath at the end.

Harukawa puts her hands on her hips. “If you’re going to annoy me so much, make it a challenge, at least.” Saihara catches the traces of a smile at the edged of her lips… Or, perhaps, a better word would be _ smirk. _

“Next time, it’ll be a hundred times harder!” Momota calls as she turns and walks away.

“Huh?” Saihara gasps.

After a few moments to recover, Saihara stretches his arms over his head. “Why did you bring her along?” he asks Momota, who’s been carefully watching her retreating form.

“I think she an’ you are a lot alike.”

* * *

They fall into a sort of pattern. Although she complains, Harukawa shows up the next day. And the next. She and Momota bicker, but she never stops coming.

And it’s… surprisingly easy. Harukawa falls into the mould, she fits into the puzzle that Momota and Saihara have constructed for themselves. Their duo quickly becomes a trio, and Saihara, piece by piece, starts learning more about Harukawa.

He learns more about her life at the orphanage, and her favourite type of fruit, and other inconsequential things that he never would have thought he needed to know, but now, they’re stored carefully in the back of his mind.

It’s like an extra groove has been added to a skipping record, and now, it plays a little clearer, a little more continuously.

(Momota makes good on his promise (threat) to intensify the workouts. Saihara suffers. Akamatsu joins them, too, sometimes, and she handles it much better.)

* * *

He dreams of Momota, one night, in a not very safe-for-work situation. He wakes up, flustered and embarrassed, and unable to look straight at Momota for the entire day.

Harukawa shoots him a weird look, but he’s not too keen on explaining it to either of them.

* * *

In July, Saihara has a panic attack. It’s not the first one he’s had since coming to Hope’s Peak, but it’s certainly the worst. It feels like the world is crashing down on him, his lungs are filled with cotton and rubbing alcohol as he gasps for air. His heart pounds against his sternum, and he has his face driven into his pillow. It absorbs the tears, but it does little to ease the dizzy feeling that’s monopolized his head.

It had been a hard day, everything seemed to irritate him, and his insecurities had been dragging him through the mud the whole time he’d been awake. His body feels curvy in all the wrong places. He was tired. He wanted out.

His door clicks open -- apparently, he had forgotten to lock it -- and he almost doesn’t register the voice of the person who steps in. “Saihara?”

His blood goes icy cold. He buries himself further in his blankets, like that would make the person go away. Footsteps approach, and his bed dips with weight. “Leave me alone.”

“Nope.”

Harukawa places a hand on his back and rubs it in small, soothing circles. “Come back, Saihara.” She talks quietly, in a softer voice than he’s ever heard her use before. “It’s going to be alright.”

Saihara weeps loudly, openly, trying to calm his breathing. But Harukawa simply sits there, hand to his back, saying nothing.

When he catches his breath enough to speak, he chokes out a “sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Harukawa responds. “Here, pull yourself together.”

He’s had a lot of panic and anxiety attacks. He’s had them at school.

This is the first time he’s had someone at his side.

* * *

Harukawa changes after that. Something about their dynamic shifts; Saihara catches her watchful gaze following him more than it used to. 

In July, one evening while they’re sitting out in the courtyard, Harukawa tells them she has something to say. They’re in the grass as cicadas chirp and flies zip past, watching the clouds.

“I… I’m not a child caregiver.” She looks down at her skirt. “I’m the Super High School Level… Assassin.”

Saihara flushes cold, then hot, then his body settles for a nervous chill. Momota cocks his head. “Why?”

Slowly, Harukawa begins to explain. She tells them about her life at the orphanage, how the kids were groomed to be assassins, and how she does what she does to protect the others. She says this with her knees pulled up to her chin, staring off into the distance.

Momota smiles. “You’ve finally told us your enemy.”

Harukawa glares at him. “Dude.”

“What I mean is that it doesn’t sound like you even like being an assassin. And you hate that you are one. I don’t think you’re a bad person, Harumaki, you’re doing what you’re doing because you wanna protect the kids at the orphanage, right?” He puts his hands on his knees.

An incredulous look passes Harukawa’s face. “Harumaki? When the Hell’d you come up with that weird nickname?”

“Been workin’ on it. And you’re avoiding by question!”

“Harukawa-san, as a detective, I can’t exactly overlook your crimes, but… I agree with Kaito.”

_ As a detective. _It slipped out so easily.

Harukawa’s lips press together, uncomfortable. “Whatever. I don’t think it’s a job people like to have.” She lowers her head. “Believe me, it wasn’t my first choice,” she mutters. 

Saihara looks at his feet, feeling this uncomfortable sense of cognitive dissonance. His mind feels foggy and he himself feels like a fraud. He’s just listened to Harukawa bear her soul to the two of them, and he’s never even explained the night she walked in on his panic attack. He’s keeping his own feelings from his friends, because he’s too much of a coward to admit them to others. _ Stupid, stupid, stupid. _

“I want to say something, too.”

Momota and Harukawa turn to him. He takes in a breath.

_ These are my friends. They care about me. _He says it over and over in his mind but anxiety still burns in the pit of his stomach.

He talks about the case-- he’s told Momota, not Harukawa, but he goes into a little more detail. And this time, he tells them about his mental health struggles, and, well, he comes out to them, too. He hadn’t really been keeping his identity a secret, and his classmates weren’t entirely subtle with theirs, either. Telling them himself, though, gave him a sense of agency. “_I’m bi, too. Helped kids at home deal with dysphoria. I get not feeling like you belong, but not in a gender way, _ ” Harukawa tells him nonchalantly, while Momota offers a cheery “_I don’t really know! _”

His identity had torn him to pieces and slowly, slowly but surely, he had built it back up, with pride. Saihara Shuuichi, the trans boy, the bisexual, that was who he was, and it wasn’t something anyone could pick and choose and change for him. Tears form in his eyes.

Momota puts his arms around Harukawa and Saihara and pulls them in close to him. Him and Harukawa’s faces redden, and Momota tells them he’s proud of them. “Don’t be so sappy,” Harukawa hisses, but she eases into his shoulder nonetheless. Saihara just smiles-- he feels appreciated and loved and it’s not like it’s a foreign feeling, but it’s something he hasn’t felt in a while.

They laugh and talk about everything and nothing into the night-- Harukawa even smiles, all teeth. Saihara’s chest aches, but it’s a pleasant feeling. He’s _ happy. _He’s only known them for a few months, but he’s grown so attached to these two. His heart is light and warm and these two have accepted him, flaws and all, insecurities and all, and still like him and want to spend time with him.

He’s glad to be at Hope’s Peak.

* * *

He tells Akamatsu, too, after their summer break. They’re in the music room and Akamatsu is playing the piano-- she really is excellent. Saihara recognizes the song, but he doesn’t know the name of it, and her dexterity is flawless.

“That’s a pretty song,” he says when she’s done.

“Canon in D by Pachelbal. One of the first songs I learned.” Whenever she finishes a song, a look of calmness washes over Akamatsu. A small, placated smile, after putting so much intensity and energy into her playing.

“I like it.” 

“Me too.” Sunlight streams through the windows of the music room, and warm wind rustles the heavy curtains. Saihara sits on the edge of the stage, head tipped back, savouring the quiet place he and Akamatsu have created.

It’s silent, but Saihara’s mind isn’t as loud as it usually is. He supposes that being with Akamatsu has something to do with it.

He feels a tap on his head. “You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without the hat on.” 

His self-consciousness mounts. “Well, I have trouble looking people in the eye. The hat kind of helps with that.”

Akamatsu’s mouth forms an ‘_ O’ _shape. “How come?”

He explains the case. It’s kind of a weird thing. He’s kept inside the pain that the case caused him, believing that it was his problem to deal with, but now, his classmates at Hope’s Peak want him to tell them. They… care about him.

“Anyways, that’s why I get uncomfortable being referred to as the Super High School Level Detective… I don’t feel like it’s earned.” Saihara rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “It’s something I ought to get over, but…” He trails off.

Akamatsu doesn’t say anything afterwards. Saihara fears that he may have made things awkward, but after a few heartbeats, she begins to play another song.

It’s a softer song, it doesn’t go as fast as Canon in D did towards the end, but it’s pretty nonetheless. It’s smooth, gentle.

She slides off the piano bench to sit beside Saihara. “Clair de Lune by Claude Debussy. One of my favourite songs. It means_ moonlight _ in French.” She puts her hand on top of Saihara’s, and the sudden touch almost makes him jump.

“I-It’s very nice,” he squeaks.

“I’m not sure I’d be able to cheer you up with just my words, and I don’t even know what to say or how to say it.” She smiles at him, warm and bright. “But music transcends that. It’s telling people how you feel without opening your mouth.” With her free hand, she snaps her fingers. “Whenever I get upset, whenever I have a meltdown-- I always have the piano. And I let that speak for me.”

Saihara looks down. “I see. I don’t really have anything like that.”

“Saihara-kun, I think you’re smart, and you’re a really nice guy. Try to have a little more confidence in yourself-- you did your job, and you did it well; that’s unshakeable.” She takes her hand away, and his own hand feels so, so cold. Then she stands up. “Hey! I know! How about I teach you how to play the piano?”

“Huh? But… that takes so much skill and time!” Saihara objects, and Akamatu titters.

“Well, you’ll never know if you don’t try! Come on, I can teach you how to play a scale, at least!” She grabs his arm and pulls him up roughly. He stumbles across the wooden stage. “And, by the way, I think you’d look cooler without your hat.” She flicks the rim.

“Seriously?”

“Deffo. Before we graduate, I wanna see you without it. It’s a promise, ‘kay?”

* * *

“Saihara-chan! Are you busy?”

Saihara opens up the door one late August day to find Ouma standing in front of his dorm, arms full of card boxes. “Do you need something?”

“Yeah, I’m bored, and Kii-boy is getting maintenance done.” He pushes past Saihara and into his room. “Come, play with me.”

“Hey--” Saihara turns around, pulling his door shut, and Ouma unloads his cards onto the floor and looks around the room with a scrutinous glare.

“Your room is kind of boring, Saihara-chan. Don’t think I forgot your favourite colour is grey-- it shows.”

“Why do you remember something so innocuous?”

Ouma sits down on his carpet and pats the space across from him. “No matter. Let’s play cards.”

Saihara can’t exactly just _ leave, _and he also thinks it’d be pretty rude to do so. With a sigh, he relents, taking a seat across from the troublemaker. His purple eyes sparkle as he sorts through the decks he’s brought. “Let’s start with Swap!”

They spend the afternoon playing games; _ Swap! _ and _ Uno _ (both of which are not so effective with two players), _ War, Bullshit _ (a game in which Saihara has a tough time deciding if Ouma is bullshitting him or not), _ Mao _ (which is particularly frustrating, because it’s only the two of them), and _ Old Maid _ for card games, and then Ouma suggests 52 card pickup and the two decide to play different, non-card based games. _ Tic Tac Toe, Chopsticks, _ and _ Rock Paper Scissors, _in which they manage to throw the same thing at least fifty times.

“I’m doing this on purpose, you know,” Ouma says with a smirk. The both throw rock. “Or maybe I’m lying?”

“I can’t tell, but it seems statistically impossible,” Saihara says flatly, even though he’s amused. 

In the evening, Ouma takes his leave. “Bye-bye, Saihara-chan! See you later!” he chirps as he leaves with his cards.

The room fills with silence once he leaves. Being with Ouma is pretty mentally exhausting, but it was also fun, and bit by bit, the more he spent time with him, he felt like he was slowly chipping away at the mask.

* * *

Come Winter, Akamatsu invites everyone to her piano recital. “There’s gonna be some pretty important people there, so I’d be happy if you guys came to support me!”

“Hell yeah, Aka! We’ll all be there!” Momota shouts, leaning forward in his seat.

After class, Akamatsu whirls around in her chair. “Hey, Saihara-kun, about my recital…”

“If you want me to come, I will,” Saihara says automatically. The girl’s eyes widen.

“Oh, yeah, thanks, it’s just…” She taps on the edge of the desk rhythmically. “I was wondering if you want to go out to dinner with me before. The recital. I mean.” She smiles, and her face is a little pink.

“Oh? Uh, sure, yeah!” Saihara responds with a little too much enthusiasm. His heart skips a beat or two, and all the sudden, he’s hyper aware of his surroundings 

“Cool, cool… I’ll text you a place and a time, okay?” Then she quickly turns back around, leaving Saihara to wonder what the Hell just happened.

Later, he gets a message with a restaurant not too far off campus and a time. Chest abuzz with a familiar, uninvited warmth, he replies back: “_ it’s a date. _”

He then throws his phone on the bed, embarrassed, and goes to stare at himself in the bathroom mirror for five whole minutes.

* * *

He sees off Momota and Harukawa before his date (Harukawa is dressed in a simple red dress while Momota is still deciding what to wear). Momota gives him a wink and a pat on the back, and Harukawa warns him not to screw anything up and hurt her. “_Harumaki, I didn’t know you and Akamatsu were friends!” _ “_Shut up. _” Saihara himself is dressed in a cobalt waistcoat and white dress shirt.

He brings a bouquet of aster flowers, which Akamatsu accepts happily. She’s dressed to impress in a pale pink, billowy dress, and she looks gorgeous. “Amami-kun helped me with my make-up,” she says, touching her cheek bashfully.

She talks a lot through their dinner (“_You like fish, too, Saihara-kun? _”), and it’s clear that she’s nervous. She apologizes, flustered, she’s been to countless performances and still gets anxious. It’s fine, Saihara promises her.

Once they arrive at the venue, Saihara wishes her good luck, and she presses a quick kiss to his cheek before leaving.

Saihara’s head spins as he goes to sit down.

The feeling in his stomach is warm, comforting, while being exciting all the same. Early in his transition, it had taken him some time to reconcile with his attraction to any person, regardless of gender, especially how he felt about girls. Teenagerdom had thrown everything up in the sair, but the dust seems to have settled, and he’s glad.

He wants to be by Akamatsu’s side, just as he wants to stand with Momota and Harukawa, but there’s a distinct discrepancy in his feelings for her and his feelings for them. Though, back towards the beginning of the school year, he would've considered his feelings for Akamatsu and Momota to be one in the same.

He loves Momota, and he wants to stay in his life for as long as possible, but the romantic connection he felt seems to have faded almost entirely.

Now, he sits next to him (he decided on a deep violet dress shirt) and Harukawa, familiar and happy, as he watches Akamatsu play. 

* * *

The school year ends in March, and it’s very bittersweet. Saihara didn’t think he’d end up actually enjoying himself at Hope’s Peak, and yet, here he was, smiling at the ceremony, standing next to his friends, his genuine friends whom he loved and cared about, who returned the feelings in full.

“Hey,” Akamatsu says to him. “You _ do _look better without the hat.”

Saihara’s cheeks hurt from grinning.

* * *

In their second year, Saihara stares up at Akamatsu, wide-eyed, as she pins his wrists to the bed. Her blonde hair falls in messy tresses around her flushed face, warmed by the soft glow of a lamp from what seems like miles away.

“Shuuichi, are you okay?” she asks breathily. “Are you sure you wanna do this?” 

Saihara gulps down the anxious lump in his throat. “Y-yeah, I do. Just, ah, let’s take it slow?”

“Yeah, alright, definitely.”

* * *

In their third year, things are different. Faster, almost. Gone are the days of youth and cherry blossom petals and falling asleep in class. They’re getting older, and the end of their time at Hope’s Peak is rapidly approaching. Just thinking of it makes Saihara’s chest squeeze.

He got attached to this school. Three years ago, he was certain that would be impossible. But he did. He loves the people he’s been put with, and the memories they’ve made together. Three years ago, he stayed alone in his room, he hurt himself, he hung on for the sake of his family, not for himself.

He’s eleven months clean, now, and he enjoys being alive, being around people. In the beginning, he had a tough time believing his friends liked him as much as he liked them. He second-guessed himself, figuring he was overexaggerating his place in their lives. The feelings, the anxiety, the depression, they haven’t gone away. Saihara doubts that they’re something that will ever go away. They’re a part of him, but they’re _ not _him. And there are days when it’s worse than ever, where it feels like the world is out to pick him apart and ruin his life by any means necessary.

But then Akamatsu squeezes his hand, or Momota pulls him in for a hug, or Harukawa puts her hand on his shoulder, and he knows it’ll be okay. He looks at people when they talk to him, he tries not to speak so poorly of himself, and he always takes his medication on time. He makes changes because he’s tired of living in stasis, living in regret, wallowing in his sorrow.

And it’s hard. It’s hard as Hell, it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. Some days, he’s sick of trying and he just wants to scream until his lungs bleed, let the pressure break him, fall back into middle schooler Saihara.

But his friends are looking out for him now.

He deserves to be happy.

* * *

Things are different just as much as they are the same in their third year. Harukawa’s cut her hair, and it curls around her chin when she bickers with Momota, but it’s softer, more affectionate. Iruma, for all her vulgarity, fixes up Kiibo without complaint, and goes out shopping with Shirogane and Akamatsu instead of holing herself up in her room. Toujou rests a bit more than she used to, letting the others get a handle on their chores as she watches over them. Shinguuji lets Angie play with his hair when he had never let them touch it in their first year. Hoshi smiles more. Amami talks more, and he sports longer hair that’s twisted into a braid that hangs over his left shoulder. Gonta learns to cook and clean like a true professional (taught by Toujou herself). Chabashira doesn’t rip so much on the boys anymore, and she seems a little happier. Yumeno’s eyes are a lot brighter than they used to be, she moves about more, and she helps Chabashira learn to swim. Kiibo’s accepted the differences between him and the rest of the class, and he’s made peace with that.

Ouma’s smiles finally touch his eyes.

There’s lots of tears at their graduation, Saihara included. Even those who Saihara has never seen shed tears over the past three years have shiny eyes. Toujou smiles, her eyes wet, and tells them that if they need anything, they can come to her anytime. Ouma wails and tells them all that if any of them are ever on his hit list, he’ll be very regretful about killing them. Akamatsu says she’ll invite them to every single one of her performances.

Harukawa’s fingers brush Saihara’s and she gently takes hold of them. “You’re going to help me in investigating the orphanage, right?” she asks softly.

“Of course, but… Maki-san, you do know there’s a strong chance you’ll get arrested.” Grey eyes meet dark red, and an understanding passes between them.

“It’s not ideal, but it’s worth it.”

Momota jumps between them and catches them in a headlock. “My sidekicks!” He ugly sobs. “I’m gonna miss you _ sooo _much when I’m up in space, you know that, right?!”

“I know, Kaito, I’m gonna miss you, too.” Saihara smiles as Momota nuzzles them both.

“We’ll be waiting for you to get back,” Harukawa tells him.

Akamatsu walks towards them. “Is there room for me?”

“Aka!” Momota whips her into a tight hug. “I’m gonna miss you, too!”

“You too, Momo!” Akamatsu laughs. “But you know what? We’ll never leave each other behind, right? Whether we’re in space or on land, we’ll never, ever forget each other, right?”

“You got it, Aka!” Momota weeps.

Harukawa shakes her head. “I don’t think I’d be able to forget you guys even if I tried.”

“I don’t know what I’d do without you guys,” Saihara admits.

Akamatsu wipes the tears from her eyes and kisses the corner of Saihara’s lips. “I’m so glad we met.” Her cheeks glow a reddish colour, an expression that still makes Saihara’s heart do flips in his chest after all their years here. “I love you.”

“Yeah. Me too. I love you.”

And Saihara is happy.

**Author's Note:**

> congrats u got to the end of this incredibly self-indulgent fic!  
saihara is a character near and dear to my heart, and i've been going through some stuff, so take this as me projecting onto my favourite character lmao. this was an excuse to write insecure saihara & random slice of lifey things with his classmates. my most well known dr fic is that saimatsu uni au, and i still love them, so they deserve some mention, too  
i'm also not a trans boy. i wrote from my own experiences with my gender, and i had a genderfluid friend who previously identified as a trans boy look over it. i tried to write as respectfully as i could, so i hope it came off that way. i identify more nb myself. any and all trans folks reading this: ily  
writing like this is fun, so i hope you enjoyed it  
(doing one of these for hanamura yosuke would be a ride, i feel)  
danganronpa tumblr is @sai-haras as always


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